


The Day Dad Got Shot

by ToMarsAndBeyond3



Series: Weekend in The Woods [1]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: As you will soon see, Don't worry, Hurt/Comfort, I can't write fight scenes, I love The Rowdies, It sort of got away from me a bit, Kahxishshz, This started out as a typical fluff fic, i hope you like it anyway, my boys - Freeform, no one dies, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 23:00:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13511544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToMarsAndBeyond3/pseuds/ToMarsAndBeyond3
Summary: In which Vogel calls Martin "Dad" by accident and Martin gets shot, not necessarily in that order.





	The Day Dad Got Shot

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry for this it's so bad but I had to share it.
> 
> This happens a a year after the initial Blackwing breakout. They are all still fairly young.

Cross threw his fist into the air, shopping wildly. Gripps had managed to scrounge up enough unbroken glass bottles to line up on the fallen tree blocking the road. It had crashed in front of the van with an alarming urgency, causing Martin to swerve off the wooden path to avoid it.

Naturally, he had driven into a ditch.

Sometimes it alarmed him that he was the best driver of the group.

"Better make the best of it," Gripps had said before promptly jumping out of the back door. Vogel, having been awoken from his nap, had grumbled angrily. Still, the bleary eyed child had crawled out of the van after five minutes of untangling himself from the nest he had made. Cross had followed soon after.

Within minutes, Cross had already thrown together some sticks to make an impromptu fireplace on the forest path. It could possibly cause a forest fire, but that wasn't the main concern. It took several minutes more for him to find a lighter, but by the time the ten minute mark had hit, a small fire had already been started.

Martin, in the meantime, had already begun to get to work on the van.

The break had come lose in the crash, and the side was dented from contact with a tree. The break would be easy enough to fix, but the dent could possibly be there for a long time, if not for the rest of the van's natural life.

Martin had let out a long sigh.

Cross's yells finally convinced Martin to come out from his place under the propped up vehicle, which was currently blasting 80's rock from its radio. He pulled himself out from the underside, and leaner back against the driver's side door to observe the other Rowdies.

It was a miracle that Gripps had managed to set up the bottles without impulsively breaking them. As it were, there was clearly broken glass shards on the forest floor that hadn't been there beforehand.

Alright, so maybe he _had_ broken a few.

Vogel bounced on his toes, his arms waving restlessly at his side as he watched the older Rowdy. Gripps adjusted his beanie and stepped back, framing the scene with his free hand. Cross quieted for a second, explosive energy building up inside him like a gun about to go off. Martin could smell it from where he was sitting.

"'Kay, little man." Gripps gave the bat he was holding a little twirl; instead of holding it from the grip, he was now holding it from the top end.

The bat was old, and probably nearing the end of it's days. It had come from a busted down garage that the boys had trashed weeks before. They wouldn't have taken it, but Vogel had absolutely fallen in love with it.

It wasn't a pretty thing. It was scratched to high hell, and the black paint was chipping off. Even the grip was peeling.

Vogel reached out to grab the bat that Gripps held out. A maniac smile grew on his face, and his eyes sparkled.

"How fast do ya think you can break those, little dude?" Gripps pointed at the bottles lined up on the tree.

"I can smash them faster than you!" 

Gripps cracked a grin.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Go and show me up, little man!"

The chaos commenced, and Cross and Gripps backed up a bit to give Vogel leg room. Martin felt himself melting into the place he was sitting, enjoying the scene before him.

**One!**

The youngest Rowdy was whooping enthusiastically, causing a smile to slowly creep onto Martin's face. Vogel was still of very small stature; Martin suspected that he might need better nutrition. Living on fast food - and stolen food - was no way for a 12 year old boy to eat. It just wasn't the way.

**Two!**

Martin wiped his hands on his jacket before heading himself up into a standing position. The van could wait; he wanted to watch his brothers for a little while.

**Three!**

The van door to the side was still open; he must've forgotten to close it. How strange. He reached over to pull it shut.

Peering inside, he saw Vogel's little birds nest in the corner. It was compromised of one blanket, two shirts, and three jackets that all belonged to Gripps, Cross, and Martin. It could be assumed that they weren't getting their jackets back anytime soon.

**Four!**

The glass exploded as Vogel's bat made contact with it, and the shards projected into every direction. This didn't deter the small child, however, and the glass just barely missed him.

**Five!**

Vogel let out a screech. It was wild, animalistic. It was, in every respect, perfect for a Rowdy. Cross and Gripps responded to it with yells of their own, and Martin nearly did the same from where he stood.

**Six!**

Martin crossed his arms. Vogel's sleeves were too long for his arms, and Martin had already needed to roll them back several times throughout the day. By the look of things, he'd have to do that again when Vogel was done.

**Seven!**

Vogel was more than halfway through the row now.

**Eight!**

Martin perked up, his body tensing as his nose picked something up. South. Danger. Fear.

Don't let it be Blackwing.

**Nine!**

He turned away from the scene in front of him and faced southwards, searching in the endless expanse of woods. There was something there, something close.

**Ten!**

Vogel let out a victory cry; the broken shards at his feet were proof of his feat. He lowered the bat, breathing heavily from the exertion. For an inexplicable second, all is silent.

Then...

"Yeah, little man!"

"So rad!"

"You blew 'em away!"

"A natural Rowdy!"

Cross patted Vogel on the shoulder; Gripps however picked him up, spinning him halfway before putting him down. He turned to Martin to share the joy...

Martin was gone.

 

The undergrowth was thick and tangled under his feet, and Martin left a trampled path in his wake as he followed his nose. He had barely had the time to grab a weapon from the van before he had set off. He was too uneasy; the idea of danger near his brothers was too heavy a topic to put off.

He wouldn't stand for it. Not after Blackwing.

He tightened his grip on the crowbar in his hand. To any normal person, the sight of Martin crashing through a forest with a metal weapon would be absolutely terrifying. He was a scary guy when he wanted to be, but not for the reasons you might think. The forest, however, seemed empty.

So why was he smelling so much fear? Why was he smelling so much _danger_?

Then he heard it. The sound wasn't distant, but as it was rather quiet, it gave the illusion of being far away. An illusion is just that, though: false. The sound was close. It was far too close for comfort.

It sounded like - and it was what it was that made Martin uneasy - a desperate sort of muffled crying.

Oh, he would love the opportunity to smash some heads in today.

The scene had appeared so suddenly before him that Martin hadn't time to stop himself before he had stepped into it. It was quite simple, really. One moment, there had been nothing but brush. The next moment, he had been in a clearing with four other figures.

There were three men, all clad in black and holding pistols. All three had their weapons pointed at a woman in the center of the clearing, who was crying on her knees. She was gagged, and her hands were bound.

The men did not have anything on them to suggest an affiliation with Blackwing.

The woman's hair was matted, and tear stains were apparent on her dirt smudged face. Martin felt anger rising up in his chest; hot, bubbling anger.

He didn't want to know what was going on. 

That didn't mean he couldn't intervene, however.

He stepped forward, getting the attention of the attackers. The one closet to him turned.

The man hesitated for a second - a six foot tall man in punk clothing holding a crowbar will have that effect - before pulling his gun on Martin.

"What the fuck! Who the fuck are you?"

The other two men looked over.

"Who the fuck sent you!"

"Jesus christ, what now?"

The other men now had their guns drawn on Martin as well; he was obviously a bigger threat to them than the woman. Martin's eyes darkened. He took another step.

"Nice little gun you got there." His voice was low and gravelly as he addressed the man closest to him. It was a strange scene; one could compare it to a wolf closing in on it's prey. "Be a real shame if something happened, don't you think?"

Martin smiled. Except really, no one was really sure that's what it was. It was more like an animal bearing it's teeth than a smile.

Too many teeth.

In his mind's eye, Martin could feel a different scene, one similar to this, threatening to overwhelm his memory. He saw men dressed in black, clad in Blackwing uniforms. He saw Vogel and Gripps on the ground, shot and kicked. He saw the blood. He could hear the threats of the guards, yelling at him to get back in his room before they killed his two brothers on ground.

Not his room. His _cage_.

Fuck it.

Martin lunged at the man nearest to him. His crowbar connected with his arm, and the gun went flying. The bones of his arm shattered on contact with the metal, and the man stumbled back. He cried out, clutching his arm.

Martin let out a yell.

Two gunshots rang out, each missing him. He threw himself at the second man. The crowbar was brought down upon his head, and he went down instantaneously. Martin had barley time to recover before a sharp pain suddenly registered in his side.

"Dad!"

Martin recognized that voice. That was Vogel's voice. He had barely looked over before seeing a small figure jump onto the third man's back, kicking and biting.

"Martin!"

Cross.

The crowbar slipped out of Martin's hands, and he finally understood. He had been shot.

Well shit. That was inconvenient.

 

 

When Martin came to, the sunlight from earlier had disappeared. It had been replaced by the dim glow of firelight, but his eyes wouldn't focus enough to tell him where exactly he was.

His side was aching. He groaned, propping himself up.

"Martin!"

Vogel jumped onto Martin, wrapping his small arms around Martin very large figure. Martin froze at the sudden contact, but after a second had melted into the embrace all the same. Waves of anguish and relief were wafting off of Vogel.

"Hey now, Vogel. It's cool. I'm cool."

"I was so worried, man! You were all bleeding and Cross wouldn't let me come near you! Gripps said you'd be okay but he was worried too, man! Are you okay!? Does it hurt!? We already beat up all those bad guys but we can do it again if you want!" Vogel's voice was high pitched, both from emotional distress and lack of puberty. Poor boy.

There was shuffling.

"Shit. You're awake."

Gripps threw what he was holding into the corner (it was a bag of the glass shards from earlier; he didn't want anyone to step on them and get hurt). He knelt down.

"You good? Cross patched ya up something good, but there was a lot of blood, man."

Vogel nodded vigorously, his whole body shaking with the movement. Martin chuckled, but frowned when he found that the action brought pain to his side.

"Ain't dead yet."

That was Martin's only response. Gripps nodded once, standing up.

Or at least, he stood up halfway.

"I'mma tell Cross you're up, man. He wants to make sure you're healing right."

Gripps clambered out of the van. Yes, Martin realized, they were in the van. Now that his eyes were focused, he could clearly see the mess of the van's interior in the flickering firelight. It registered in the back of his mind that someone had rested his head on Vogel's bird nest.

Vogel.

Martin froze, thinking back. Vogel had very angrily jumped in from nowhere, attacking and probably biting the man who had shot Martin. Before that, though, right before that, Vogel had called out for him.

He'd called him "dad".

Ooooh dear. Oh dear oh dear.

Cross climbed in, heading over to Vogel after a glance at Martin. He put his hand on Vogel's shoulder.

"Hey little guy. You wanna head outside so I can check on Martin?"

Vogel bounced unhappily, but didn't complain as Cross ushered him out the door. Cross checked out to make sure that Gripps had an eye on him, and then turned back to Martin. They sat in silence for a minute.

"What happened to that woman?"

"Hm?" Cross peeled back the bandage, holding a new one in his hand. "What, man?"

"That woman that those bastards were trying to shoot." Martin grimaced as Cross started applying the new wrappings.

"Oh yeah man, her." Cross's reply was nonchalant, as if it had already been over and done with for him. "She was pretty shook, man. Gripps took some of her anxiety before showing her to that bus stop we passed."

"He fed?"

"Eh. Just a bit, you know. Girl was having a panic attack after we dealt with the guys."

Martin let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

"So," Cross's smirk was discernable in his voice, if not by the dim light," What's it like to be a dad?"

Martin half-heartedly slapped Cross's arm.


End file.
